


Decontamination

by arienai



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types, Resident Evil 2 - Fandom
Genre: Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arienai/pseuds/arienai
Summary: OPERATION: NESTWRECKER SUCCESSFUL.ONE (1) ASSET REMAINING.INITIATE QUARANTINE BEFORE REACTIVATION.





	Decontamination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [houston180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houston180/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mr. Reaper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788805) by [houston180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houston180/pseuds/houston180). 



The initial screening test had turned up nothing, an Umbrella researcher-turned-public-health-nurse told him, lips taut and hair bun haggard, but in rare cases it took days for a detectable viral load to appear in the blood of the infected. He wasn't in the clear yet. He would spend those days in quarantine.

Hunk mutely nodded his thanks. 

"Is there," she paused, prompting, "nothing else?"

"What else?"

"Don't you want to call your loved ones?" When nothing more was forthcoming, she added: "Know what the survival rates are for persons infected with the G-Virus, or T-Virus? What the chances are that you're infected yourself?"

He didn't have to ponder that. "If I'm infected, I'm infected."

_"No, don't hurt him!" The voice is Kirpatrick's, and through the panic and the rasp of blood in his lungs Hunk can hear concern. For all it's Martinez's fault that they're in this situation - his fault that Kirpatrick is_ dying _\- the two are friends, and their fading screams of fear and agony are as much for each other as they are for themselves._

_Hunk, who had taken point with Martinez at their six and Kirpatrick, with the mission cargo, in the center, knows a lost cause when he sees one: by the time he has sprinted back to the others Birkin has torn Kirpatrick's chest cavity open through his kevlar, and Martinez's legs have been crushed. They're out of ammo._

_He could fire. He could call out to distract the bio-weapon and give the other two the opportunity to die in peace. But their weapons have had no effect on Birkin; if Hunk does these things, he will die._

_Instead, he ducks as silently as he dares on sodden, squeaking boottreads into the sewer workers' break room. Ducks under a table, out of sight. It will be trivial for Birkin to break in; Hunk's wager is that whatever Birkin has become hasn't counted how many of them it's killed. Or has assumed that the last of them has long fled. He's gambled his life on it._

_He grips his kneepads to remain motionless as two-ton footsteps rattle the walkway outside. He holds his breath when they stop; when the door creaks open he closes his eyes._

_Birkin will spot him, or he won't. Hunk's made his choice. Birkin uses blunt trauma - he'll crush Hunk's chest or his skull, or tear off his limbs. He acts with intent - he wounds fatally every time. If Birkin spots him, Hunk will be dead seconds or minutes from now. Someone will find the feed from his helmet camera and upload it into an Umbrella training program to teach the new recruits what he did wrong._

_The footfalls begin again, off to the next room. The door clangs shut. Hunk's eyes open._

Hunk awakened to motion. Instinct. Furtive naps in locked closets or grated ventilation ducts aside, he hadn't slept in days. It was dark out; when he first checked the glow-in-the-dark-green alarm clock Umbrella had kindly seen fit to leave beside his cot in quarantine he thought he'd slept a few hours until midnight, until he saw the date roll over one digit too far. 

"Well, hello there sleeping beauty." 

The voice from the radio. Evac was near. After all these years a helo pilot's voice at the end of a mission was still the most soothing sound in the world.

Hunk rolled back over and closed his eyes.

_He stays under the table until he can no longer hear Birkin on his level. Until he can no longer hear Birkin at all. The sewer employees will have to save themselves - he had no chance to warn anyone._

_He still walks softly back down the stairs._

_Kirpatrick is dead. Martinez joins him a few minutes later, sitting in a gallon of his own blood. Hunk inspects the samples from a safe distance, crouched opposite him. Unconsciously checks the seal on his respirator. Still good._

_All of the vials are smashed. Unrecoverable._

_Based on their briefing, though, those weren't the only ones. Those were merely convenient: packed and ready to transport. There are more in the labs. The mission is still a go._

_Hunk flinches upright at Birkin's roar, closer than he could have thought possible. Somehow, the creature is back on this level. Heading his way._

_Hunk squeezes Martinez's hand and follows the rats into the water, under a ledge, trusting their instinct that their predators are too large to follow._

Hunk's mouth tasted like it was stuffed full of sour cotton. He blinked through thick crusts over his eyes; wheezed for water before spotting the bottle that had been placed beside him, next to his alarm clock. Same day, 0900.

"Don't tell me I almost got nuked for nothing." That voice was back. One bleary eye-rub later and the helo pilot appeared on the cot opposite Hunk, dressed in the same loosely-tied, disposable gown he himself was. They must have bagged and burned everything he was carrying, too. "You gonna' make it or what?"

Hunk held up a hand. Emptied the water bottle. Set it down. Coughed. "Nighthawk."

The other man smiled for no reason Hunk could discern and cocked his head. "Don't you think we're a little past code names at this point, Mr. Reaper?"

"Sure," Hunk grunted, reached across the bed, and took Hawk's water bottle. "Call me HUNK."

"Whatever," Hawk snorted, still smiling, while Hunk emptied that one, too. He hooked his thumb toward the right of the plastic sheet that served as their door. "Washroom's that way."

Hunk set the bottle down with a shrug. Would probably never admit that without that advice, he might not have made it.

_After Birkin has butchered the second cable car of escapees from the lab, Hunk admits to himself that the man-turned-creature has retained some of his human intelligence. There is something he's waiting for - searching for. He understands basic machines like elevators and how to operate them. The thought crosses Hunk's mind in the dead of night that he could die from dehydration in addition to being maimed or devoured; the water he carries is now the only water he trusts, and after the careful decontamination routine that allows him to attach his canteen to his gas mask safely, he finds it pitifully low._

_This serves as the inspiration for one of the less well-conceived plans of his career: to return from the sewers to the lab on foot. On feet and hands, rather - there are OSHA-mandated service rungs that run the length of the cable tunnel in case of breakdown. It is a painstaking climb over a bone-breaking fall._

_But if he falls, he falls._

_The five-minute cable car ride takes him four hours._

It took four protein shakes and another nap before Hunk was up to chatting with Nighthawk. The HEPA-filtered, negative pressure air of the quarantine enclosure was bone dry, and chafed the already bleeding-raw ring around his face from wearing a respirator for days.

"Are they putting everyone who was in the city here as a precaution?" He couldn't think of much else to say.

"Nah." Hawk pushed a pre-packaged pudding in Hunk's direction, which Hunk - lacking a spoon - squeezed into his upturned mouth. "I told them we, uh, exchanged some bodily fluids during your decon procedure."

"Honest of you," Hunk murmured, and contemplated the best way to get the rest out with his fingers.

"Hey if I _am_ infected I'd rather have the antiv--" Hawk trailed off, squinting. "Just use your tongue, man."

"Always do," Hunk said, demonstrated as much, and patted the cot beside him.

To Hunk's surprise, Hawk obliged. It was nowhere near large enough for the both of them, resulting in a shuffle of bumped elbows and hooked limbs until they found a knot comfortable enough to recline in. 

"So..." Hawk asked, while Hunk languished in the luxury of silence, "I always kinda wondered - where'd you get the name 'HUNK', anyway?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Hunk wiped a pudding smear off his own cheek.

Left with the choice between calling Hunk's bluff and slamming his own tastes, or insincere flattery, the man sprawled atop him opted for the most tactical option. "Yeah, right - you're just too damn handsome."

_In the underground laboratory, the outbreak is already well underway. The first personnel Hunk encounters are security, and their slouch betrays the fact that they're infected before the moans and the shuffle. Hunk sidesteps them at a run - shots fired will betray his position to survivors and creatures alike._

_He's seen the training logs from the Spencer mansion. He's fought in simulated scenarios based on that data. He knows how their sluggish gait belies the speed with which they can lunge when victims are near. He wastes only one knife when a had-been researcher leaps onto him from behind as he jogs through a pressure-sealed door; the man pins Hunk to the walkway between lab sectors with his weight and his glasses slip off his face to plink against Hunk's gas mask lenses when Hunk stabs him in the throat._

_Hunk loses the knife when he throws the infected man over the railing._

_The survivors have for the most part barricaded themselves in storerooms and shuttered pods. Still, Hunk stays out of sight as much as possible. Whatever footage there is of him on the security feeds he'll have to erase; his team chose to infiltrate through the ceiling in the first place to minimize their exposure._

_He avoids the Ivys; he learns to tiptoe past the Lickers when his instinct to freeze at the sight of one saves his life. He retrieves his new sample from Birkin's lab and tucks it carefully out of sight in his hip pouch._

_When he returns to the cable car platform, Birkin is waiting for him._

" _Pretty_ sure that's not how you use that," Hawk commented, either amused or chiding, when Hunk rolled a green herb in paper and lit the end.

This was the company they worked for; their nurses and guards and quarantine officers were their coworkers, the people they CC'd on emails and got drunk with at the Christmas party. It wasn't too hard to find one willing to smuggle in a lighter.

Hunk pursed his lips around one end. Sucked on it to puff the other to a bright orange blaze. 

Inhaled. Exhaled. Sighed.

"The herbs that grow in the Arklay mountains are well-known for their medicinal properties. Packing them into a wound reduces the chance of infection. Inhalation has... systemic effects."

It was impossible to tell if Hawk believed him or not. "Never tried it."

"Oh?" It smelled as acrid as it did sweet. Muscles that burned every time Hunk shifted them unwound with the scent.

"You know how the company feels about bottle to throttle." 

Hunk chuckled; low and raspy with smoke. "You're not flying anywhere."

He tangled himself further into Hawk's body to push their lips together; he pushed his tongue against Hawk's lips and they parted for him like flesh to a well-honed knife and he exhaled.

Smoke poured from his mouth into Hawk's, leaked from its corners and from his nostrils in a grey-white that blurred their closeness.

Hawk inhaled. The haze evaporated.

"Hmm," was all he said, which seemed out of character for a pilot who liked to fill the airwaves with chatter, until Hunk realized that his lips were still sealed around Hawk's, that his tongue was in Hawk's mouth, that Hawk's tongue had stroked the underside of his own.

Hunk picked Hawk up to reverse their positions - Hawk was too light, so light he felt wrong in Hunk's arms, _which grab Alvarez the moment he goes down, with all his kevlar and his ammo and his weapons, and start dragging him backwards to safety on instinct, long before Hunk's mind catches up to the reality that Alvarez is missing his throat entirely._

Hunk took another pull. Hawk coaxed his mouth open again. Hunk eased their bodies together, his fingertips rough against Hawk's smooth skin as he eased the other man's gown up so that he could feel the warmth of his living flesh. So that Hawk could feel his.

Hunk's eyelashes scraped the side of Hawk's face when they shut. He savored the sensation. Began to grind again him in a relaxed rhythm, moving on instinct--

_alone, he runs. Not a sprint that will tire him, force him to pause or slow his movements, but a jog he knows he can maintain for hours. Distracted by new arrivals, Birkin had at last relented. Had slunk off to torment new prey._

_That prey had left the cable car at the bottom, but Hunk no longer trusts that he won't be followed. He climbed out hand over hand the same way he'd climbed in._

_After an explosion from below forces him into side passages, it takes him hours more to get back to a position in the sewers he recognizes. Where he at last has a reason to call for evac on the radio, half-convinced that no one will answer._

Their combined body heat built up sweat, the most natural thing in the world, along with other natural reactions to intimacy - Hunk felt the heat pool in his groin long minutes of soft movements before his cock was hard enough to stiffen. In mute darkness and sweet smoke, he felt Hawk's rub up against his own stomach; he grabbed his hips and squeezed them tighter together. More pressure. A stronger pleasant buzz that hummed in the back of his skull and all the way through his chest down to the sweat-slick tip of his erection that slipped between Hawk's thighs and he, ah, ah, ah--

_groans through gritted teeth as exhaustion makes his limbs leaden while jogging up the stairs of the Raccoon City Police Department. Whoever'd designed it was a sadist, and the scraps of his mental map are frayed at the edges when exit route after exit route is blocked._

_It's Code Black. The pilot doesn't have to tell him - they are going to level the city. Hunk, his team, and even the G-Virus are acceptable losses. He has--_

_Hunk ducks gnashing teeth; steps over a corpse; hurls a flashbang and braces for the ear-splitting pain of its ignition--_

_\--He has minutes to escape. Or the helo will wave off and he will die here--_

Hawk protested softly and Hunk unclenched his teeth from around his lower lip; Hawk's shaft was dripping against his belly and there was a pool of slimy wetness there that was as much precum as it was perspiration. The pilot eased him - with help - onto his side and Hunk shuddered as they pulled apart, bereft of the faint friction of Hawk's muscles. He flicked the nub of filter from Hunk's burnt fingertips and grasped Hunk's cock, pulling leisurely, coaxingly.

"C'mon, open your eyes."

_"This is war," Hunk tells him, and he is responsible for his own survival. The pilot can no more help him than Hunk could Kirpatrick and Martinez - staying behind would be a waste of both of their lives._

_Still, Hunk leaps down the metal stairs toward the exit with all of the speed he has left. If he rolls an ankle, he dies._

_He stays on his feet. The grounds in front of the gate are littered with scores of the infected, and he doesn't have enough ammo for all of them, doesn't have enough time - Hunk hurls every grenade and flashbang he has left. If it isn't enough, it isn't - if the Ivy that grabs him from behind with two feet left to freedom bites through the back of his skull, he'll die, but he has one knife left and he buries it into those gnashing teeth and he shoves it away and he bursts away with all of the strength he has left, drenched in sweat down to his toes and breath ragged and soaked in blood._

_He'll have a while before the jets scramble, he hopes - maybe an hour. Some of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki survivors jumped into the water on impact - if he can find a pool, a river - where was the river? How long before his legs give out? How long before he suffo--_

_The evac pilot is still waiting for him outside the gate._

Hunk's mind went searchlight white; he shook when he came, left bruises on Hawk's skin. "Why'd you come back," he muttered, half-conscious and half-lidded.

He never heard the answer, but he thought it was different, this time.

_The security feed has the same prototype AI that the Umbrella Security Service uses in their training simulations: bioweapons are marked as such by its algorithm, by level and identification, as are the human targets and neutral civilians._

_Hunk scrolls dutifully though each until he spots himself on the walkway, soundlessly hurling a hostile to a second death in a single pivot, feet from where it had been devouring Alvarez's body._

_He is highlighted in red the same way he always in the sims: **Human: Unknown, Not Killable.**_


End file.
